


Lonely

by writingfanficlikeabus



Series: The Legend of Zelda: Across the Ages [5]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:09:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4565787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanficlikeabus/pseuds/writingfanficlikeabus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been a long time since Princess Zelda has cried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> OH GOD THIS IS ANGSTY I'M SO SORRY
> 
> *ahem*
> 
> The Legend of Zelda series is property of Nintendo.

 

It had been a long time since Princess Zelda had cried. It had been a long time since Princess Zelda had shown _any_ kind of strong emotion. No laughter, no shouting, no tears. Only a weak smile here and there, a slight furrowing of eyebrows, and an almost permanent look of silent misery. Not that anyone really noticed. She certainly received pitying looks here and there, but for the most part she was seen as Zelda the princess, Zelda the symbol, and Zelda the reincarnation of a long forgotten deity for those who knew Hyrulian history well enough. Not Zelda the person. Certainly never Zelda, the seventeen year old girl who had to stand against an entire army, who had to decide the fate of an entire kingdom of people on her own. All they saw and would ever see was Princess Zelda: regal, refined and reserved ruler of Hyrule. It was as if there was a wall between her and everyone else; something that had been erected long before her birth and which would be unbreakable even if she tried.

 

Even when they locked her in the tower, even when the weight of her loneliness was crushing her so that she couldn't breathe, had red spots in her vision, felt sick, she did not cry. Zelda was almost certain that she was being spied upon; she refused to give them the satisfaction of tears. She had no idea how long she had been standing there, looking at what her kingdom had become, when the imp arrived. It was a curious thing, with a grey, intricately designed helmet covering most of its head, including its left eye; orange hair that seemed to flow like lava; pale skin half covered in dark, navy blue, parts; its body, though small, looked like the exaggerated impression of a humanoid woman's. Its one visible eye had a blood red pupil. And it spoke to her. The creature was a she, and she offered to help Zelda. She could bring the chosen hero to her; he had supposedly been turned into a wolf and was now unconscious in the dungeon. All the creature asked for in return was the ability to kill Zant. Zelda agreed, of course. Until she could foresee another option, this was the only choice she had. The creature smiled mischievously and started to leave, but the weight, the longing for company, was pressing down on Zelda again, forcing words out of her mouth. "Wait!" The imp turned around, a questioning eyebrow raised. "What do you want _now_?"

Zelda gulped. She had never once expected this to be the situation in which she asked for a friend. She had never once expected this to be a situation. "W-well...I..um..." This was new. She hadn't stuttered in front of anyone for a long time. "Well, it's just...I'm lonely. And you're here. And could you possibly stay for a while? Please?" Her voice had taken on a lilt unfamiliar to her. Pleading.

The imp sighed. "Well I suppose it will be a while before dog boy downstairs wakes up..."

 

The imp's name was Midna. Midna...Zelda rolled it around on her tongue. It was an uncommon name, not native to Hyrule. But then again, neither was Midna. And perhaps it was rare where she was from as well. She spoke with an arrogance common in the nobility, and she angrily accused Zelda of abandoning her kingdom more than once. Yet it was a strange anger, almost as if she had decided to direct her self-loathing at someone else. Zelda was so fascinated by it that she almost forgot to be insulted. However, she said nothing; she was just glad of the company, a lone comfort in the many dark days that stretched ahead.

So later, far later, when the hero returned with a dying Midna on his back, a Midna with all the bitterness stripped from her voice, who just wanted Zelda to help the hero, she made a decision. Despite Midna's protests, despite the look of confusion and panic in the hero's eyes, she gave Midna her light. For she knew, without a doubt, who Midna was, and that she would be far more useful in the coming battles than Zelda could ever hope to be. And as Link prepared to leave the room that had once belonged to Princess Zelda, Midna neglected to mention the fading voice in her head. _You don't understand, Midna. Sometimes Princesses have to make sacrifices. You'll have to learn that if you ever want to rule._

When Zelda got her body back, one of her first feelings was one of panic, as Ganondorf crushed Midna's helmet, the Fused Shadow, in his hand. After all this, after her sacrifice, Midna had taken the words she had heard to heart. In the ensuing battle, Zelda made sure to aim at Ganondorf where it hurt. She reminded herself that princesses do not cry.

But Midna was alive, and she stood tall and majestic in her true form. She swept the breath of both Link and Zelda away, but Zelda made sure to hide it, to remain her normal impassive self. Link, however, stood with his mouth agape, staring up at her, and Zelda couldn't blame him.

Joy was quickly replaced with sorrow and as Midna shed a single tear upon departure, Zelda had to wonder which one of them it was meant for. Maybe it was meant for both of them. Link and Zelda.

Still Zelda did not cry. She did not cry when a friend leaving created an empty hollow in her heart. She did not cry when Link escorted her to the castle and left, back to his village. When one of her advisors asked if everything was alright, the tears did not flow, and she could only nod numbly. When she reached her room and dismissed the guards stationed outside, she held back the tears. It was only when she was inside, on her own, that she allowed herself to curl up on the bed and cry the sorrow out. Cry for the loss of a friend, the only one who could hope to understand her; cry for a lonely childhood full of people telling her not to express herself; cry for her lack of freedom; cry for the decisions that no one so young should have to make. Soon, her mattress was stained with tears.

Tears for the sorrowful princess.

Tears for the lonely girl.


End file.
